Godric's Hollow
by recreational-foolishness
Summary: After six months of the newly wedded couple lodging in Sirius' flat, everyone agrees that it's high time for the Potters to find a place of their own. Essentially Jily, but there'll be others along the way!
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1 - The Cockroaches, the Overdue Promise and the Married Couple**

It was a nice flat, Sirius thought affectionately. It had served him well. He didn't mind the mold or the damp because it was more than that – it had been the Marauder's first real taste of freedom. At only seventeen, Sirius had a motorbike and a home (thanks to Uncle Alphard) and with these possessions came undisputed manhood. Whilst living with the Potters had been brilliant, there was nothing quite like having a place to oneself. Or not to oneself, he begrudgingly corrected, peering through the doorway to look at Lily, who was sat on the bed – his bed! – and reading. After she and Prongs had married, Sirius had been promised that it would only be for a couple of weeks before they found their own place. Six months on, he was sure that his back would never be the same from sleeping on the sofa. It wouldn't be quite so bad, he thought, if only the couple were a less affectionate. Quieter. You know. His symbol of freedom and boyish lack of responsibility was somewhat tarnished by the domestication that the married couple had brought in. Lily had insisted on cleaning once a week. It always smelled nice. There was a patterned rug and flowers on the windowsill. Essentially, it was hardly the flat – the resting place of reckless and rugged charm! – that should belong to Sirius Black. He glowered. The lack of Muggle band or Busty Witches Weekly posters deeply bothered him.

"Can I help you, Sirius?" Lily inquired, and looked up from the leather-bound book on her lap.

"No," he replied, loftily, assuming an innocent expression. "No."

"Good," Lily replied and returned to her task. The book was exceedingly dull, and if it weren't for the research task she'd been burdened with by the Order, she wouldn't be reading it at all. Perhaps it was due to this restlessness that she couldn't help but see him loitering in the doorway. "What is it you want?" she sighed, exasperated with her assignment rather than him.

"Nothing, I was just... thinking," he said, and entered the room. His room. He looked around.

"Must be strange. I can see why you have such a bemused look on your face."

"Very funny, Evans," he snapped, not unkindly. She smiled, and tucked a flyaway rope of copper behind her ear. He picked up a potted plant from the bedside table. "It's just... well, this is my bedroom. And there's a flowering plant in it. It's just not very... me, is it?"

"I was just trying to add an element of charm to the place," she explained, defensively. He raised his eyebrows.

"It has charm! Loads of it! An abundance of charm! Look at it!" He threw open his arms, gesturing at the peeling paint and the hairline cracks in the ceiling, still holding the little geranium whose petals shook violently. "Charming! Absolutely. Indisputably."

"Padfoot, I think you're getting charming and pitiful mixed up," she laughed and shut the book. He frowned.

"It's all well and good getting a plant," he told her, "but it least needs to be one that eats things. Or released a poisonous gas to intruders. Not something that has pink flowers. Pink!" He looked revolted.

"Don't you think we have enough violence in our lives without the plant life become murderous, too?"

"I just to live somewhere without patterned lampshades and boxes of James' mopey journals," he grumbled and placed the plant aggressively back onto a stable surface. Lily looked a little more sympathetic.

"We'll be out soon," she soothed, "it's just difficult, you know? We have been looking for a place, but with all the precautions at the moment..." Sirius nodded in response, tight lipped. It was moments like those that he couldn't quite realise how high the stakes were, what with the war and the Order and... marriage. Whilst most of that day he had been ceremoniously and impressively intoxicated, he retained clear memories of the actual ceremony, and he wouldn't be able to forget the feeling of betrayal as James Potter married Lily Evans. Yes, it was joyful and wonderful and a celebration of love between two people, but those two people were only eighteen years old and one of them was his best friend. Sirius –stupidly, he admitted – felt as if he'd lost Prongs that day, and to a vivacious red head who harboured a obvious dislike for his flat but stayed in it anyway.

XXX

Across London, James was also thinking of his wedding, although with a very different attitude. He crossed the entrance hall in the Ministry towards the floo network beside a short, ruddy wizard with spectacular eyebrows. He was slightly disconnected from the high-speed jargon about protective spells, and simply nodded thinking about how pleased Lily would be when he told her that they were moving. How pleased Padfoot would be, too, come to think of it. He couldn't understand why Sirius hadn't just temporarily (or not so temporarily, as it had turned out through none the couple's own fault) stayed with Remus. When he had suggested it, he had received a mumble about "werewolf" and "war" but Lily mused in the private of the night that the friends had had some form of quarrel. The phrase she'd used was "a lover's tiff", but James didn't over think it too much.

" – and you'll be moved in within a week!" the little wizard beamed and heartily shook James' hand. He thanked him in return and scooped a handful of Floo powder. He threw it into the fire and stepped into the emerald flames, announced Sirius' address as the destination, which in merely a few days would not be his address, too.

XXX

"Is that James back?" Lily shouted from the bedroom. She had heard a commotion in the living room pushed the books from her lap with unnecessary aggression, rushing out of the room. Sirius was standing in the barren lounge, James beside him in front of the fireplace, where smoke was still curling up the chimney from the floo, an excited grin pulling the corners of his mouth.

"Grab your coat, love," he grinned, "we're leaving".

* * *

I only own an imagination and a copy of the books and together they make me smile, as do reviews!


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 - Funerals, Family and Felines**

James' parents had died – naturally, peacefully and together – when their son was seventeen years old. On the weekend after their departure, he and his friends travelled back from Hogwarts to the large family home in the country to attend the funeral, which was held in the vast grounds of the house. It was a lavish affair, with black satin hung from the trees and the pond enchanted to show moving photos of the late Mr and Mrs Potter on its shimmering surface. James had hated it. Mid-afternoon brought speeches from various witches and wizards who all spoke the kindness and generosity the couple showed throughout their lives and whilst James could not disagree with anything that had been said, he couldn't help but seethe with anger at the fact that he hadn't been asked to speak about his own parents, whom he had had a wonderful relationship with. He was sure that Sirius, too, felt a little hurt at the lack of mention of his stay with the Potters (they had seen him as the second child they were too old to have) and Padfoot had disappeared with Remus half way through the talking. Pete had been trapped by an eccentric witch who insisted that he was a servant of her grandmother in his past life. As the spring sunshine cast its blessing over the company gathered, James stood with the coffins: resolute and silent. The guests waxed and waned, the chatting continuing, but he did not move and his thoughts of loss were unvoiced. Lily stayed with him the whole time; she did not shatter the mourning. She simply remained beside him, and let him engulf himself in memories, her presence being an anchor to his forlorn, soundless musings. As the guests began to trickle away come twilight, James sighed, and the exhalation – seemingly so insignificant – marked the end of his sorrow. The sound blended with the sighing of the trees and the rustle of the pink blossom against ebony satin. There was no time for grieving. Even in his meditation, he could identify that the tension of the coming war was the topic of conversation amongst the guests throughout the day. His eyes lingered on the wooden caskets side-by-side, nonetheless. He didn't quite have the strength to tear away his gaze.

"Lily," he said, somewhat taking her by surprise. His voice was monotone but decided. "I think we should get married."

She hesitated. Eclipsing the joy of the proposal was the unmanageable but irrational thought of how much her twelve-year-old self hated James Potter. But then she thought of how much had changed since she was twelve: the war and the first kiss and the first time they talked of their love and the final stretch of Hogwarts and the Order... She looked at him: he remained stoic.

"Yes," she had replied, facing forward again, but with a glimmer of a smile. He grabbed her hand in his own clammy paw. They stood for a little while longer, minds racing with what that one idea of unity would bring and their future together. He turned to her, and she to him.

"But only," he amended, looking worried, "if your sister doesn't come."

Lily laughed and nodded. In her relief of the return of refreshing humour, she reached her free hand slowly to his cheek; the nape of his neck; the back of his head and kissed him gently, her hand continuing its fluttering caresses. There was no parallel in her restrained chastity though – James pulled her closer against him and their embrace heated with intensity. It seemed wrong for such irrepressible affection to be displayed during such a sober setting, but the relief that the hunger for each other brought was unstoppable. All the sadness and tension from the day was released in their kiss: the passion was a catharsis. Between urgent kisses, James whispered of his love; his adoration; his devotion. The words got lost in his mouth – or her mouth – but the spring air seemed full of his promise.

XXX

Despite her guarantee, Lily had in fact invited her sister to the wedding, but due to the bad feelings between them, the Dursley family did not make an appearance. Overall, Lily deemed this as fortunate, but she couldn't help but feel the loss of their sisterhood. This was why she was walking towards Number Four Privet Drive, Little Whinging, Surrey with a forcefully cheery smile and the conviction that _'it won't be that bad'_. Whilst walking down the horribly neat cul-de-sac, she was halted by a cat in her path. The Bombay let out a gentle mew and stared intently at her. Lily diverged from the warpath and petted the cat's soft head, cooing. She noticed that it didn't have a collar. She stood up, a little more ready to face her last remaining relatively and walked towards the front door. She rapped on the door and noted how perfectly trimmed the front lawn was. It angered her, for some reason, how short the grass was clipped. She pushed all the unreasonable feelings aside and looked expectantly at the door. She waited a little longer before ringing the doorbell.

Finally, Vernon opened the door. "What do you want?" he snapped irrationally, before seeing her, at which he turned an unbecoming shade of sickly violent. Gripping the door, he sputtered a demand for an explanation at her presence. His meaty knuckles turned white.

"Hello Vernon. A pleasure as always. Where's Tuney?" she asked. Receiving only an incoherent stammer in return, she pushed past him quite pleasantly, satisfied that he was too scared of her to prevent her from crossing the threshold. She walked briskly down the hallway – the spinal cord of the house – glancing through each doorway as she went. As she ventured further in, she heard the man shout about a stray from the door, before he slammed it angrily. The houses' layout was completely unbeknown to her as it was the first time she had seen the Dursleys since Petunia's wedding two years previously. Vernon followed her as she made her way through his house, protesting aggressively. Lily finally found the lounge and marched in. Her sister had her back to her, sitting on the sofa quite stiffly, facing another woman. As her husband's swearing polluted the room, she turned.

"Hello, Tuney," Lily greeted coolly, allowing a small smile to grace her sister. Petunia stood, her face twitching insistently. The other woman – Yvonne (Lily recognised her from the wedding: even then she had been struck by how spindly the woman was) – watched the scene with unhidden fascination.

"What are you doing here?" Petunia asked; no hint of compassion in her voice. Her eyes were narrowed with visible distaste.

"Just a quick chat: relax," she laughed, trying to diffuse the tension in the room. She strode across the carpet and took a seat in one of the armchairs, ignoring Vernon's protests and Yvonne's unsubtle swivel to continue facing her. With an expression one of pure undisguised distrust, her sister remained standing. Lily smiled again. She realised quickly that it was going to be very difficult to keep things civil. Stiffly, Petunia removed a hand from where they were tightly folded across her chest and made a small wave, inviting Lily to continue. Well, that was something. Lily took a breath, noticing how stale the air tasted; how dry.

"James" –Vernon snorted at the mention of him, but she pointedly continued– "and I are moving house, and I just wanted to let you know and give you our new address."

"Do you want to write it down?" she asked, evenly, not looking at her husband who was shaking his rounded head. Lily would've been childishly memorised with the ripples morphing his chins if it wasn't such a serious meeting.

"I have it written down already." She bent over her handbag and pulled a tiny slip of paper from the depths. She held it out and looked at her sister – who she had spent so much of her childhood with; who she had learned so much from – with a straight and unyielding gaze, trying to convey how desperately she missed their sisterhood and dear young Tuney, who could always invent the most wonderful games to play and who bossed her younger sister relentlessly. "If you want it."

Petunia took two steps forward and daintily pulled the paper from the outstretched hand, ensuring that their skin didn't touch. Lily quickly grabbed the hand and clutched it in her own. Her sister met her stare, eyes wide at the sudden action.

"This is stupid, Tuney," she said quietly. Yvonne leaned forward to hear. "Come on, remember growing up together? Our summer holiday in Rome; you were fourteen."

"My wedding day," Petunia hissed.

"Vernon."

"_James_."

"This isn't about my husband, is it?" Lily replied, letting go. "I don't know what it's about, Tuney, but let's just move on and be sisters again."

Petunia took two steps away, and Vernon came and stood next to her, sneering at Lily. "No," she said, icicles of bitterness hanging from her words. Lily raised her eyebrows, hoisted her bag up her shoulder and promptly left the house. As she walked away from Privet Drive, she almost stumbled and looked down to the obstruction. With big amber eyes the cat stared up at her. It mewed pitifully.

"Me too," Lily sighed, and continued briskly pacing to get away from the scene that had just played out. The cat trotted beside her, diligently looking ahead. Lily smiled to herself. She turned the corner and was about to apparate away from the horribly ordered town of Little Whinging, but there was a pressure on her leg. She looked down, puzzled, to see the cat gently nuzzling her. She lent down to stroke it, and the cat began to lick her hand with its rough tongue. A charitable thought sprung into Lily's mind as the cat began purring. Quickly, she scooped the animal into her arms. It licked her chin quickly and then began purring. A cat would be a perfect addition to their family home, Lily convinced herself, and disapparated just as the bundle started purring.

* * *

Oooh, the story of how Lily and James got their cat! You know what would be even cuter? _Reviews_. Just sayin'


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